


miles to go

by reservoirgays



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, character death but it's expected, don't freak out about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 11:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reservoirgays/pseuds/reservoirgays
Summary: Bucky kisses him back harder, then, cupping Steve’s jaw in the palm of his hand. “Yes, right now. Don’t know how long I’ll be…” He trails off. Frowns. He backs up a little. “I’ll even let you take the lead even though we both know who wears the pants-“Bucky lands on the couch hard when Steve pushes him, bouncing from the impact, cracking himself up. “C’mon,” he says, hooking his foot against the small of Steve’s back, reeling him in closer. “Put on somethin’ we can dance to.”





	miles to go

Steve finds him in the bathroom this time.

“Jesus,” he breathes, quiet. “Jesus Christ, Buck.” He’s shaking like hell, and it comes through in his voice.

He pushes broken glass away with the toe of his shoe, clears a spot big enough to kneel on the linoleum. He takes it real slow when he bends down, no surprises for Bucky to jump at.

“Bucky,” he tries, doing his best to sound like himself. He gets nothing. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, softer, and the sound of his own voice like that stupidly makes tears blur his vision. He looks down, wipes his eyes hastily. There’s blood on the floor. He notices it now.

“You’re bleeding?” Steve scoots closer on the balls of his feet, traces the source of the blood up to Bucky’s right hand where he’s got a shard of clear glass gripped tight in his palm. Blood is drooling thickly onto the floor, fresh and bright red, caking dark and dried-up on the jagged edges of the piece of shattered mirror. He’s clearly been like this for a while. Steve’s stomach flips threateningly, his guts twisting up tight with nausea. He reaches forward and touches Bucky’s hand, over where his knuckles are bruised and cracked open.

Bucky turns his head quick, his eyes wide and icy-blue, miles away from here.

Steve shivers. “Do you know where you are?”

Bucky eventually shakes his head.

“Okay. That’s okay.” He lets his thumb rub over the back of his hand, back and forth, back and forth, until Bucky’s breathing finally evens out.

“Can I have that, honey?” He touches his index finger over the tip of the broken glass. Bucky looks confused, but he loosens his grip trustingly, enough so that Steve can pluck it out of his hand and toss it to the side to be cleaned up later.

Bucky’s a dead weight when he’s like this, but he’ll never be too heavy for Steve to carry. So he carries him.

 

“My name is Steve,” he says. The needle threads through Bucky’s palm and pulls the edges of the gash together. “I’m here to help you. Do you understand?”

The window is open, and the cold air makes the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand up. He shivers and the floss jerks against the sewing needle, snaps apart. “ _Dammit_ ,” he mutters, willing his fingers to stop shaking while he tries to get another one started. Bucky might not be sitting still for much longer.

“I know you,” Bucky says suddenly. It sounds more like a question than a statement. Outside, the fog is rolling in off the water. A dog barks on the sidewalk below them while it passes by.

Steve feels like his ribs are collapsing in on his chest, the bones curling inwards and puncturing through viscera. He conjures up a weak smile and tucks a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “Yeah, Bucky, you know me.”

 

_1936_

When they’re both settled in Steve’s bed, backs pressed together under the layers of blankets, Steve bumps the back of his head against Bucky’s, says, “It has nothin’ to do with you, Buck. She’s a dirty girl.”

Bucky shuffles next to him, and Steve hears him let out a heavy sigh against his pillow. “I guess I know that. But it still doesn’t feel good.”

“You’ll find someone dumb enough to go to steady with you,” Steve says, and Bucky elbows him in the back playfully. Steve laughs shortly and scoots forward a little, presses his face into his pillow. “Can’t say the same about myself, though.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, rolling onto his other side so that he’s facing Steve’s back, “don’t talk like that.”

“It’s true. Girls don’t like fellas that are shorter than them. And can’t dance. And have a whole bundle of health problems…”

Bucky grabs Steve’s shoulder and yanks it so that Steve is laying on his back and Bucky is looming over him. “I oughta punch you, Steve Rogers. Because anyone that talks that way about you gets to take it up with me.”

“Jesus, Buck…” Steve swallows, blatantly looks away from Bucky’s piercing gaze.

After a moment, he reaches out and knuckles Steve’s chin affectionately, makes it real buddy-buddy, real playful.

“I mean it,” he smiles, soft, and Steve’s guts twist up.

There’s a pause where the weight of Bucky’s words is heavy on both of them, and then he gently grabs Steve’s jaw between his index finger and thumb, forces him to make eye contact.

It feels like time slows down, then, like Bucky is up there forever with his hand cupped around Steve’s chin before he finally slides it to curl around the back of his neck and leans down until their mouths are hovering close, Bucky’s warm breath ghosting against Steve’s lips, and then it’s not just friendly anymore, and it feels like everything went from zero to sixty in five seconds flat.

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve whispers, frantic, “what are you-“

Bucky jolts like he’s been shocked. He pulls away quickly and turns away from Steve, clears his throat. “Uh,” he says after a moment, his voice shaky. “Suzie’s parents are gonna be out of town next week. She’s throwing a party. Bunch of gals from school will be there, that’ll be a good time to find you a date.”

Steve stares at Bucky’s back, feeling a hundred different emotions assaulting him all at once. “Okay,” he says, trying to diffuse the situation, “maybe I’ll go.”

Bucky scoots back to his side of the bed and nods against his pillow. After a few minutes in silence, he says, “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night,” Steve responds quietly.

***

“How’s he holding up?”

Steve cradles the phone closer to his ear, balancing a bag of laundry in his other hand with the help of his right hip. The rain is falling hard and fast on the pavement, thick droplets sliding down the bay windows and collecting on the sill. No sign of stopping, and the laundromat closes in twenty minutes. He sighs resignedly and drops the bag on the floor.

It’s bad today. Steve is hoping the storm drowns out the sound of Bucky’s shouting so the neighbors don’t complain again.

“Good,” he says, smiling reflexively as if Sam could see him. “He’s good.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. Some shuffling, the sound of fabric against fabric. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come up there? It’s really no trouble-“

“No, Sam,” Steve says, and means it.. “We knew it would get worse eventually. We knew it would come to this. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He can hear Bucky banging his fist against the wood floor, and Steve feels guilty for the fleeting thought that he’s glad Bucky doesn’t have the metal one anymore to allow him to punch through someone else’s ceiling.

“Alright, man,” Sam concedes. “Just remember that you’re not alone in this thing. We all miss you at the tower, you know.” Guilt hits Steve like a punch in the gut. “You should come down here soon. Not for a job or anything, I know you’re out…” Steve flinches. God, that wasn’t easy news to break. Natasha practically left a permanent hand mark on his cheek. “…But we’re always up for a beer. You know, when we’re not working.” Sam’s voice sounds tinny on the other end of the line, echo-y and far away.

Steve almost laughs. He’s grateful, he really is- his friends have an unconditional love for him that could never be replaced, and he will never, ever take that for granted. But the hole in his chest is so deep and so expansive that it feels like it’s visible, and walking into a room full of people that expect him to be strong would be like cutting his belly open and letting his guts spill out.

“Thank you, Sam.” Talking about it like this feels like opening the wound again. He has to wrap it up, give the blood time to clot. “I gotta go check on him now,” he lies. If he opens the bedroom door, he’ll just get something thrown at him.

When they hang up, he makes himself a cup of tea and sits down on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his feet. His circulation has always been poor, his toes always cold as a result, and the serum never seemed to help that.

Something crashes against the wall in his bedroom before it bangs against the floor, and he tries not to flinch. And the TV is off. And he watches his reflection in the screen.

 

_1936_

The party is kind of a disappointment. There’s a good amount of girls there, but most of them are already taken or too stuck up to give Steve the time of day. Bucky’s doing fine, of course, already has two girls sitting next to him on the couch an hour into the whole thing. Not that Steve is surprised at all.

“Buck, I’m gonna head out,” Steve says, leaning his hip against the arm of the couch that Bucky is sitting on.

“What? Stevie- excuse me, girls, I’ll be right back.” Bucky gets up and follows Steve into Suzie’s empty kitchen. “What’s the deal?” He whispers forcefully, cornering Steve against the kitchen counter. “We just got here!”

Steve sighs and shrugs, dropping his shoulders heavily. “It’s getting late and I’m not really having a good time, here.”

“Huh?” Bucky actually sounds _hurt._ “But I came here for _you_. So that you could get a date! Now you’re just gonna leave?”

Steve moves around Bucky and heads toward the door. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Maybe if you tried a little harder,” Bucky says. Steve stops in his tracks.“It’s like you don’t even try to talk to girls.”

Steve spins around and faces Bucky, fists clenched at his sides. “Oh, really? I don’t _try_ hard enough, Buck? That’s what it is?” Bucky opens his mouth, but Steve storms out the door before he can say anything, tears welling up in his eyes. Bucky doesn’t follow him.

***

He wakes up on the couch later that night to the sound of footsteps, feeling groggy and vaguely sore. The sky is dark, but the sun hasn’t set quite yet. He stretches, runs his fingers through his hair. He figures Bucky is just looking for something to eat, so he makes a plan to warm up some of the chinese food he ordered a couple days ago.

“You hungry, Buck?” He asks, pointing and flexing his toes to crack them before he pushes himself up off the couch.

Bucky rounds the armrest and stands right in front of Steve. His eyes are red-rimmed and heavy looking, his cheeks flushed pink and tear-tracked, and he has a small cut running from his nose to his left cheekbone.

“Steve,” he says. It’s not a question this time. His hand goes up to his face to cover it, and he shakes his head, ashamed. “I broke some stuff, I’m-“

“Hey.” Steve moves forward and slides his hand across the back of Bucky’s neck, pulls him into his chest. Bucky whimpers a little, threatening to cry again, and Steve has to bite the inside of his cheek for a second to keep his own voice steady. “Don’t apologize, Buck. It’s just stuff.” Bucky sniffles, tucks his cold nose against Steve’s throat.

“I’m so tired of my own shit,” he admits, his voice muffled. “Fuck, Steve.”

Steve turns his head and kisses Bucky’s hair. “Well, then I guess you’re lucky I’ll never get tired of you.”

Bucky snorts. “God, you’re corny.”

Steve laughs, and the hollow spot in his chest gets a little bit smaller. Bucky’s here, and he’s breathing, and he’s talking. So. There’s that. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Later,” he protests. He pulls back and gets right up in Steve’s face, nuzzles their noses together. “Dance with me, baby.”

Steve can’t help himself but to tilt his head and kiss him sweetly on the lips. “Right now?”

Bucky kisses him back harder, then, cupping Steve’s jaw in the palm of his hand. “Yes, right now. Don’t know how long I’ll be…” He trails off. Frowns. He backs up a little. “I’ll even let you take the lead even though we both know who wears the pants-“

Bucky lands on the couch hard when Steve pushes him, bouncing from the impact, cracking himself up. “C’mon,” he says, hooking his foot against the small of Steve’s back, reeling him in closer. “Put on somethin’ we can dance to.”

Steve reaches behind himself and grabs Bucky’s foot, bends down to give his ankle a kiss. “You really wanna dance?”

“What, you want me to get down on one knee and ask? Please, Steve, make me the happiest man in the world and waltz with my lousy ass-“

“Christ, but you’re full of it.” Bucky looks pleased with himself, maybe because of his own joke or maybe because he got Steve to smile, but butterflies kick up in Steve’s belly either way. “Alright, wait here. I’ll put a record on.”

Bucky scoots up on the couch a little, smiles sincerely. “Okay.”

When Steve drops the needle on the record, Bucky is already there to wrap his arm around his waist, palm against Steve’s belly, chest pressed right up against his back. He’s warm and soft and familiar, and Steve’s blood feels like it runs cleaner, hotter.

“Hmm,” he says, low and vibrating through Steve’s spine, melting it to liquid. “Did I ever tell you I loved you before the war?”

The question shocks him a little, but he tries his best not to show it. He lets some of his weight fall on Bucky, reaches behind himself to tuck his hands in Bucky’s back pockets. “Once, in a shouting match.”

“Yeah?”

“You kept nagging me to keep my inhaler next to me everywhere I went.” Steve shakes his head. “Drove me crazy. I’d be moving from the bedroom to the kitchen to get a goddamned apple and you’d give me this _look_ if I wasn’t carrying it. It was usually the reason I was cussing you out.”

Bucky chuckles, kisses the side of his neck. Steve’s pulse speeds up. “Firecracker. Always a firecracker.”

Steve pretends to be incredulous. “Who, me?” He feels Bucky shake his head, the back and forth motion of it, the way he presses his smile into Steve’s shoulder. “Anyways. One day, I told you to stuff it and quit acting like my ma, and we got into it pretty bad. Shouting and shoving…” Bucky’s fingers curl tighter against his belly. “It was gettin’ to the end of it, so you started to walk away, probably to slam a door or something. But I asked you why the hell you cared so much about my inhaler anyways, and you just spun around and told me it was because-“

“Who are you?”

Steve’s heart sinks right into his stomach.

He tries to take a deep breath to calm himself down before he turns around and faces Bucky’s vacant stare all over again, but there are chainsaws grinding through the soft tissue of his lungs and glass caught in his throat and the blood is bright red again, the wound exposed and re-opened quick and clean.

Bucky’s hand moves from his stomach to go limp at his side and Steve pulls his hands from Bucky’s pockets, rests his palms on the record player. He can’t turn around. Not yet.

“My name is Steve,” he says. Every muscle in his body suddenly aches. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He feels Bucky shift behind him, and then his back goes cold. In his peripheral vision, he can see Bucky moving towards either the kitchen or the front door. One of those is _not_ an option, so he shakes himself off, rubs the angry, red lines in his palms made from gripping the record player, and follows Bucky into the kitchen.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket in case Bucky really _is_ heading for the exit and he needs backup, but when he rounds the corner he finds Bucky sitting cross-legged in front of the open fridge, shoving leftovers into his mouth.

“Okay,” he exhales, setting his phone down on the counter. “Okay. That’s good, Buck, you should eat.” Bucky makes no indication that he heard him. Steve wants to reach out and touch him so bad that it physically hurts to have to hold himself back. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Still nothing. He treads back to the couch with heavy feet, and leaves the record spinning.

 

_1936_

Giving Bucky a key to his front door was probably the worst idea Steve’s ever had. He wakes up with a shout when he feels someone crawl on top of him in his bed, but relaxes a little bit when he sees who it is.

“Bucky. Are you kidding me right now?” He whispers, reaching up to rub his sleep-heavy eyes.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers back, hovering over him. “Stevie.” His breath _reeks_ of alcohol.

“Jesus, Buck. The party must have really heated up after I left. Exactly how hard did you hit the sauce tonight?”

“Doesn’t matter. Stevie, please don’t be sore at me. I’ll die, I swear to god I’ll die if you are.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’ll survive.” He tries to push Bucky off of him, but he won’t budge.

“Tell me you’re not mad at me,” Bucky says seriously, eyes wide.

Steve is still hurt by what Bucky said to him, still feels the sting of his words like a knife against his skin, but he humors Bucky just to get him to calm down.

“I’m not mad,” he says softly, demonstrating calmness, hoping Bucky will reciprocate. “Please lay down.”

Bucky gets this look on his face like Steve just told him he won the goddamn lottery. “That’s good, Steve,” he says, and then suddenly their foreheads are pressed together and Bucky’s knee is slotted between Steve’s thighs. “That’s real good. Been thinkin’ about how sorry I am.”

“Alright, Buck,” Steve says apprehensively, feeling like they’re both dangling on the edge of a very, very tall cliff. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No. You have to know, Stevie. You have to know-“

Bucky’s breath is hot against his mouth and then their lips are touching and Steve feels like he’s shorting out, like every nerve in his body is a live wire, frayed and bent where Bucky’s touching him. He starts to kiss back but then his brain catches up with him and he pushes on Bucky’s chest, forcing him to pull back.

“Buck.” His palms are burning up where they’re touching Bucky. “We can’t do this. It’s not…” he trails off, not able to gather his thoughts.

“You’re thinking about it too hard, Steve,” Bucky says, skidding his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone.

“Buck, if you don’t…if you don’t mean this, if it’s a joke-“

“Never a joke,” Bucky urges seriously. “You’re never a joke to me.”

“You’re gonna regret this in the morning,” Steve half-jokes, but he feels like he’s going to lose it if Bucky actually changes his mind.

Luckily, Bucky seems to be on the same page- pressing his mouth against the soft give of Steve’s throat and kissing him there while he moves so that he’s completely boxing Steve in against the bed. Steve exhales and palms the back of Bucky’s neck, lets his head sink further into the pillow so that he’s stretched out, opened up for Bucky’s exploration.

“M’so fuckin’ horny,” Bucky admits, grabbing Steve’s tiny wrist and guiding his hand down to press against the thick, heavy weight of his dick through the fabric of his pants. Steve’s never felt another guy’s junk before, and it’s intimidating when it’s up close like this, but this is _Bucky_. That thought alone relaxes Steve enough to where he works up the nerve to squeeze the outline of Bucky’s dick, letting the fabric slide against the grip of his fingers.

Bucky sighs against his mouth when he does it, uses his hold on Steve’s jaw to pull his mouth open enough so that he can slide their tongues together slow and relaxed, fucking against the curl of Steve’s skinny fingers. His lips are so much softer than Steve imagined they would be, but not like a girl’s lips at all. There’s no mistaking that Steve is kissing a guy-kissing _Bucky_ \- curling his tongue against the soft insides of his cheeks and tasting whiskey when he lets it drag over the roof of his mouth.

“Judy left me hanging,” Bucky pants, pulling away from Steve’s lips and breathing hotly against his cheek. “She was playin’ around like she was gonna blow me, but she left before she did.”

“You fooled around with Judy?” Steve’s brain is having a really hard time processing words at this point, but he’ll say anything that will make Bucky keep going.

“Yeah. Put my hand up her dress- but Steve, listen, it got me thinking. Can I suck you?”

Steve’s stomach flips like he’s on a rollercoaster, his heart bounding under his ribs hard enough to crack them. “You- Bucky, you want to?”

“ _Yes_.” Bucky scoots down the bed until he’s eye level with Steve’s belly, shucks his sleep-shirt up and kisses Steve’s concave stomach. “Want to, Stevie,” he slurs drunkenly. “Been wonderin’ what it would be like.”

Steve whines unintentionally because it’s _too much_ , too hot and so wrong for them to be doing this- and when the thought creeps into Steve’s mind that Bucky might be too drunk to even remember this tomorrow, he grabs him by the hair and tugs a little. Instead of taking that as a cue to stop, Bucky _moans_ , low-pitched and raw, and moves lower. His teeth scrape against Steve’s bare stomach and Steve’s heart is bounding against his ribs, the muscles in his belly tensing, he’s choking on his breath-

“Hey, hey, shh.” Suddenly they’re pressed chest-to-chest again, Bucky’s voice low and comfortable against his ear. He’s rubbing his palm over Steve’s chest soothingly, letting his fingers click over the skin that’s stretched over his ribs, his other hand carding through Steve’s hair. “It’s okay honey, hey, just breathe for me, okay? Don’t have an attack on my account. I’m so sorry Stevie, Jesus. I’m real sorry.”

“Shut your big mouth,” Steve pants, feeling his heart slow down in his chest with the protection of Bucky’s weight, his lungs trying to catch up with him. “I ain’t your honey. And m’fine.”

Bucky’s face lights up with relief. “Scared the hell out of me,” he says. “Think I’m stone cold sober now.”

That actually makes Steve feel a lot better, if it’s true. He doesn’t like how Bucky’s mouth tastes like alcohol, how he might be too drunk to be in his right mind about this.

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully.

“Mm. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?”

Steve bites his lip. “I don’t want to take advantage of you, Buck,” he admits.

Bucky laughs against Steve’s cheek. “You say that like I’m some gal that you took to the pictures who’s lettin’ you feel up her tits over her dress.”

Steve huffs out a laugh in response, his muscles relaxing a little more. “You’re too…flat to be a girl.”

Bucky pushes himself up so that he’s hovering above Steve and frowns, feigning offense. “You get fresh with me and then have the nerve to call me flat-chested?” He says, making his voice go high-pitched and feminine. “Steven Rogers, I’ll have you know that I am the _captain_ of the cheerleading team and a gal like me doesn’t need-“

“ _Please_. You should write for the funnies, since you think you’re such a knee-slapper and all.”

Bucky laughs wholeheartedly and rolls onto his back next to Steve, his left side pressed up against Steve’s right. “We can stop,” he says after a minute, his voice surprisingly serious. “Didn’t realize you would get so worked up about it.”

“No,” Steve cuts in, a little too quickly. Bucky raises his eyebrows at him. “I mean…I want to. Try that. If you still want to.”

“Yeah?”

He suddenly feels overwhelmingly embarrassed, but still forces himself to nod his head against the pillow. “Yeah,” he whispers.

Bucky exhales loudly, like he was holding his breath in this whole time, and bends his hand around the bottom of Steve’s ribs.

“Just tell me if I do something wrong,” he says, using his leverage on Steve’s sternum to climb on top of him again.

“I wouldn’t know. Remember? The most I’ve done with a girl is kiss her, and that was probably out of pity on her part.”

Bucky winces. “I forgot you’ve never…” he trails off.

“Yeah,” Steve finishes.

Bucky leans down and presses their foreheads together. “I don’t know about her, but I like kissin’ you.” His voice is uncharacteristically shaky. “Can I?”

Steve breathes out a confirmation and Bucky doesn’t hesitate, lets his bottom lip catch against Steve’s top one and pulls him closer with his hand that’s pressed against the back of his head.

Kissing Bucky is like a dream. It feels like Steve is suspended in time, like one wrong move could make all of this go away. He feels like a kid again, running home from school to catch his favorite programs on the radio, the terrifying suspense of not knowing if you’ll make in in time.

He opens up when Bucky licks into his mouth, lets him take the reigns for everything in fear that Steve will ruin it with his inexperience. When Steve imagined this in the past, it didn’t feel nearly as natural as it does now. Kissing Bucky feels right and comfortable- like coming home.

When Bucky rolls their tongues together, Steve relaxes and sneaks his hand down between them, tests his fingertips against the soft skin just above Bucky’s waistband. Bucky’s breath catches and Steve raises his eyebrows in silent question when he pulls back.

“If you want to,” Bucky answers, his breath warm against Steve’s mouth.

Steve dips his fingers under his waistband in response, letting the pad of his index finger press against the warm, wet tip of Bucky’s dick. Bucky makes a surprised noise and leans his forehead against Steve’s while he reaches back and pushes his pants and boxers down past the curve of his ass for better access.

Steve looks down, can’t help himself, and feels like he’s going to have a real asthma attack when he sees Bucky’s thick, hard cock curved against the flat of his belly, huge and smooth and unfamiliar.

When Bucky notices him watching, he tilts Steve’s chin up with his index finger and kisses him gently. “You okay?” He mumbles. “You don’t have to-“

Steve cuts him off by cupping his hand over it, testing the weight of it against his palm, letting it wet the heel of his hand. Bucky’s eyes get wide and Steve wraps his fingers around the girth of his dick, gripping him like he would grip himself.

“Oh, _God_.” Bucky buries his face against Steve’s neck and pushes into his hand, encouraging him to keep going. Steve gives it a few tentative strokes, still a little nervous about how he’s doing, but Bucky is moaning against his skin like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, canting his hips forward when Steve stops.

“Stevie, please,” he chokes out. “Don’t stop- _yeah_ , sweetheart, that’s it-“

Steve is really going for it now, working his wrist the way he does when he jerks himself, and Bucky picks his head up from Steve’s throat and kisses him. Steve speeds it up and he can tell that Bucky is getting close when he pulls back and starts panting against his mouth, his belly tensing under Steve’s knuckles when they touch together.

“C’mon, Buck,” he whispers, kissing the corner of his mouth, “want you to finish.”

Bucky stills and _does_ , his cock jerking in Steve’s hand, painting his belly and fist with come. Steve jerks him through it slow and full, reveling in the way Bucky whimpers into his mouth and sucks on his tongue like he can’t help himself, and Steve feels like he’s king of the world. It’s a stupid thought after it runs through his head, but Bucky is…Bucky is _everything_ , and Steve is-

“I see those gears turnin’ in your head,” Bucky says breathlessly, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s cheek. “What’re you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking…” Steve says, pretending to contemplate, “…that you’ve sure got a hair-trigger. How long was I touchin’ you for? 30, maybe 40 seconds? I mean I know I’m the virgin here, but I was expecting-“

Bucky digs his fingers into Steve’s ribs, right where it tickles him the most. “You little shit,” he says, still catching his breath, pinning Steve’s legs down with his knees so he can tickle him better.

Steve tries to tell him to stop but he’s laughing so hard that he’s _crying_ , the satisfaction of getting under Bucky’s skin combined with the adrenaline rush of what he just did making for a complete sensory overload. Bucky shucks up his shirt and gets right up under his arms, and at this point he’s just shaking silently, eyes closed, tears streaming down his cheeks from laughing so hard.

Bucky finally quits when Steve starts to breathe funny, dangerously close to wheezing from hysterics. When he opens his eyes, catching his breath, Bucky is looking down at him and biting his lip, his expression unreadable.

Steve coughs and exhales slowly, his breath shaking in his chest. “What?”

Bucky shakes his head and smiles, reaches down and wipes the tears off Steve’s face with the pads of his thumbs. He looks like he wants to kiss him again but isn’t sure about it, so Steve pulls him down with a hand on the back of his head and presses their lips together boldly.

He’s achingly hard against Bucky’s thigh, but he wouldn’t even care if they did nothing else but kiss for the rest of the night because kissing Bucky just feels so _good_. It feels like New Year’s day in his chest when Bucky is touching him, like every nerve under his skin is ultra-sensitive, his internal compass pointing unfailingly toward Bucky at all times.

Bucky pulls back a little and says, “I don’t usually, um…finish that fast, you know. It’s just-“

He cuts off, his eyebrows knitting together.

 _You_ , Steve finishes mentally. _It’s just you_. He gets that. He also gets why Bucky can’t say it out loud.

He nods, though, playing dumb. “Uh huh,” he says patronizingly, “sure, Buck.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You’re askin’ for it, pal. Let’s see how well you do.”

Steve quirks his eyebrow. “What do you-“ he starts, but gets his answer when Bucky scoots down the bed and presses his mouth right up against Steve’s cock through his boxers, his warm breath bleeding through the fabric.

“Oh, _fuck_.”

…And Steve doesn’t usually swear, but this is. This is.

Bucky kisses the head of his dick over the waistband, tentatively sliding his hand to curl around Steve’s hip. Steve shudders when Bucky’s thumb presses against his belly, and Bucky reaches his other hand up to rub his chest soothingly.

“This okay?” He checks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Steve half-whispers, and the darkness gives him the courage to say, “Touch me however you want.”

Bucky’s come is cooling uncomfortably on his belly, drying out and getting sticky, but all he can think about is the way he looks pulling Steve’s boxers down with his teeth.

“Jesus.” Steve’s voice is shaky. “Where’d you learn _that_?”

“Seen a few girls do it.” He says casually, like Steve’s bare dick isn’t right in front of his face, flushed pink and smearing wet against his belly.

“Oh.”

He moves so both of his hands fit around Steve’s tiny waist and flattens his tongue right under the tip of his cock, slides it up to curl against the head like he’s testing the taste of it in his mouth. It’s the best thing Steve’s ever felt bar none, and he almost loses it right there just watching Bucky look up at him from between his legs.

His breath is shaking uncontrollably in his chest, and Bucky rubs his thumbs in soothing circles over his skin to calm him down.

“Breathe, Stevie,” he urges seriously. And then, quieter, “I’m nervous too.”

Steve wants to say _I want this to last in case it’s the only time_ , but it’s too honest so he doesn’t, and then Bucky’s mouth is on him again.

Steve inhales a shuddery breath and white-knuckles the sheets so he won’t touch Bucky’s hair like he wants to. He feels Bucky drop lower, his wet tongue sliding heavy and hot over the sensitive spine of Steve’s cock. It’s inexperienced- Steve feels Bucky’s teeth scrape, light and gentle, against him- but it’s _Bucky_ and it’s perfect. If he looks down and watches Bucky’s mouth stretch around him, sees him looking up at him with those pretty, doe eyes, he’ll come. So he lets his arm drape across his eyes instead, stretches his legs out and lets his toes dig into the warm skin over Bucky’s ribs through the fabric of his shirt.

Bucky slides off with a wet pop, lays his palm over Steve’s hand and says, “Stevie, look at me.”

Steve releases his iron grip on the sheets and shakes his head. “I can’t.”

Bucky huffs. “So that’s it, huh? Too afraid to acknowledge that it’s me down here? Could’ve warned me before you made me feel like a damn fool.”

He starts to get up off the bed, but Steve moves his arm off his face and grabs his wrist, finally looks down at him. “Wait,” he says. “It’s not that, Buck, I swear. It’s just…if I look at you doin’ it, I’ll come.”

Bucky’s eyes get dark. “Oh.” He puts his hands back in their place and presses his nose against Steve’s flat belly, kisses the warm skin there. “Isn’t that the point?” He asks, voice muffled.

Bucky’s mouth feels good _anywhere_ , even him just talking against him, his voice vibrating through Steve’s skin, is enough to make his dick twitch, wet and straining next to Bucky’s face. He reaches down, grips his hand around the base of it and squeezes just to hold himself off, but Bucky looks up with blown pupils and nudges his hand out of the way, lets his bottom lip drag the length of his cock.

“Watch me,” he urges, voice dreamy and low, and sucks Steve into his mouth again, gets down far enough so that Steve can feel the slick-wet start of his throat.

“Oh Christ, _Buck_ -“ He moans, watching his cock slide through Bucky’s full lips, his long eyelashes fanning out against his pink cheeks while his tongue pushes heavy against the underside. His mouth is so sweet and tight around his dick that he has to practically chew off his bottom lip just to stop from whimpering from how good it feels. Bucky notices and slides his sweat-damp hand up to Steve’s mouth, tugs on his bottom lip and pulls off again.

“Don’t,” he says. “Let me hear you come.”

Steve exhales like all the air got punched out of him, blushing. “You can’t just _say_ stuff like that, Buck, _Jesus_.”

Bucky says nothing, looks up at Steve innocently while he licks the palm of his hand and wraps it around his dick.

Steve’s jaw drops open and his hips jerk forward, pushing his cock through the tight space in Bucky’s spit-slick fist and drooling precome all over his knuckles.

“This good?” Bucky doesn’t even wait for Steve to answer, just drops down and tongues at the slit of his dick, his soft, wet tongue pressing heavy in all the right places while his hand takes care of the rest.

“Bucky, oh _Christ_ , that’s good, that’s- _yes_ -“

“Yeah, c’mon,” Bucky urges, jerking Steve off while he gets his mouth on him again, sucks him until his lips touch his fist and Steve’s thighs are shaking, his toes are curling against Bucky’s ribs, his balls are drawing up tight-

“ ‘m gonna come, gonna come, oh shit, _Buck_ , I’m so close,” he moans, and he touches Bucky’s cheek to warn him but then he just feels how full Bucky’s mouth is of his cock and it’s _too much_ and he’s coming before he can hold off, shooting wet and thick down Bucky’s throat. Bucky doesn’t stop, just keeps jerking his dick while he moans and comes and he _swallows_ it. Steve can feel his throat working over him while he shudders through it. He whimpers a little when it gets too sensitive, taps on Bucky’s jaw to get him to stop.

Bucky pulls off but keeps his mouth shut tight, rushes up to lay on top of him, and Steve doesn’t understand why until he licks into his mouth and _some of Steve’s come is in there._ It’s so wrong but it makes Steve’s stomach flip, his mouth dropping open so their tongues can slide together sweet and lazy, come stringing between their mouths with every wet kiss. It’s heady and salty-thick, Steve exhaling quiet little whimpers against Bucky’s mouth, their soft tongues sliding together while he flexes his thighs around Bucky’s hips. Their mouths connect with wet, smacking sounds, and when Bucky pulls back he licks over Steve’s lips one more time, hums against him.

“Doesn’t taste as bad as I thought it would,” Bucky comments.

Steve snorts. “That all you got to say about it?”

Bucky presses their noses together, kisses him short and sweet. “Yeah. _You_ got somethin’ to say? C’mon, spit it out.” His chest is warm and solid where it’s pressed against Steve’s, his breath soft and alcohol-bitter against his mouth.

Steve thinks about lot of things at once. Steve says, “I win. Who was the virgin again?”

Bucky socks him on the arm.

***

Steve finally makes it to bed, intending on reading a book he’s been meaning to read while periodically checking up on Bucky, but exhaustion takes over at some point. He drifts off to sleep, book left open on his chest, only to be forced awake moments later by a hand at his throat.

“ _Bucky_ ,” he chokes out, shoving against his solid chest, trying to push him off so he can control him- and Bucky lets go, but then there’s a knife at Steve’s throat and Bucky’s eyes are wild and unfamiliar and the blade dips into his skin-

“No.” Bucky shakes his head, fighting with himself, trying to force his arm away. “No. No, no- call Sam, _please_ , Steve, call Sam, tell him-“ and then he’s shaking and the knife drops to the floor with a metallic clanging noise and Bucky is a rag doll on top of him.

“Oh, God, _Buck_ ,” Steve says, pushing him onto his back and checking him over- all okay except for an extremely fast pulse- and Bucky is passed out, from the looks of it. It’s happened more than once before.

Steve turns him on his side, just in case, and kisses the top of his head before he gets up. His chest hurts when he looks down at Bucky: the way he’s curled in on himself, the cut on his cheek that Steve hadn’t had a chance to patch up, the way he appears uncharacteristically small and fragile like this.

He has a sick, suspicious feeling brewing in his stomach- so he grabs his phone from the night stand and leaves the room, making sure to leave the door cracked open so he can listen for Bucky getting up.

Sam answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”

Steve decides not to waste any time. “Why did Bucky just tell me to call you in the middle of an episode?”

The sound of keys jingling, a door slamming shut. “I’m on my way. How bad are you hurt?”

“What? No, Sam- stay home, everything is fine. Bucky didn’t even touch me.” A lie, but what Sam doesn’t know can’t hurt him. “Just tell me why the hell he said that.”

There’s a short pause on the other end of the line, and Steve’s nerves are on fire with urgency. “Honestly, man? I have no clue. I-“

“Please don’t lie,” Steve begs. He feels heavy and cold, the edges of the hollow spot in his chest unfurling and smoothing out. “Not to me. Not about this.”

There’s another pause, and then Sam is sighing, long and deep.

“Dammit, Sam-”

“Okay, alright,” he concedes. “For the record, I really didn’t want to have to tell you this.” Steve hears the sound of a door shutting again, but it’s less forceful this time. “When Bucky first started to…” He trails off. Steve swallows. “He tried to make me promise him something. He told me that if he ever hurt you intentionally again- winter soldier trance or not…” Sam pauses again.

“He made me promise that I would put him down. He tried so hard, man. I mean, he _begged_ me. I told him yes just to make him happy.”

“Sam,” Steve says. He feels lightheaded, unstable. “You are _not_ to do that. _Ever_.”

“I know,” Sam says, and Steve can practically see him nodding frantically, panicked. “I wouldn’t. Like I said, I promised him I would just to make him feel better.”

Steve closes his eyes, exhales. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says, and Steve believes him. “I really don’t know.” He sniffles- it’s subtle, but it’s there- and Steve’s chest tightens up. “I guess I just didn’t want you to worry about one more thing.”

And suddenly, Steve is reminded of how much _older_ he is than any of these kids, and he feels achingly, unavoidably alone.

“Sam, hey,” he soothes, lowering the tone of his voice. “None of this is on you. Okay? You told me, and that’s all that matters.”

“I’m so sorry, man.” His voice is shaking a little, and Steve instantly feels guilty for scolding him.

“Don’t apologize. Get some rest, okay? I’ll call you if something comes up. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He hears Sam shuffling around on his end. “Alright, Cap.”

Steve hesitates, and then: “Call your girl.”

“What?”

“You told me you met a girl down at the VA. Cassie was her name, right?”

Sam laughs a little. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Call her,” Steve says. “And if you love her, tell her that. Because you don’t have as much time as you think. Trust me.”

Behind him, Bucky stirs in his sleep. The sheets rustle underneath him, and his fingers grip tight into the pillow.

“Alright, Cap,” Sam repeats, softer this time.

 

_1938_

“Steve?” Bucky calls from the front room, his voice echoing off the walls. Steve can hear him taking his jacket off, pulling his boots from his feet.

“In here,” he responds weakly. He follows it up with a wet cough, and it makes Bucky walk double-time over to their bedroom.

“What the _fuck_.” Bucky rushes to the window and cranks it shut, glaring at Steve when he turns around. “Are you trying to catch your death?” His voice is loud, shaky, and it makes Steve feel small in the bed. “You’re already sick enough as it is, you can’t just let the cold air in like that.”

Steve puts his pencil down. “I concentrate better when there’s fresh air in the room.”

Bucky scoffs, shakes his head. “You concentrate better- well, what a relief. And here I was, thinking there were no upsides to you dying of pneumonia-“

“I’m sorry that I opened the damn window, okay?” Steve shouts, and Bucky looks shocked that he raised his voice. “It’s not easy being cooped up in here all the time, with nothing to do except sketch and wait for you to get home!” He tosses his sketchbook off the bed angrily. “It’s not easy being sick all the time and watching you struggle to pay the rent because I can’t even get a job of my own! God, I’m so worthless! I’m so worthess, Buck, I’m-“ and then he can’t breathe and his chest tightens up and he’s chasing his breath and choking until Bucky presses his inhaler against his lips and he breathes in as best as he can, feeling his airway clear up again.

His chest is heaving, his skin sickly pale, and when he looks up at Bucky, he’s crying.

“Don’t ever say things like that,” he chokes out, wiping his cheeks hastily with one hand, cradling Steve’s face in the other. “God, Stevie, don’t ever say bullshit like that to me.”

Their neighbor bangs on the connecting wall to get them to shut up, and it makes Steve realize how rubbed-raw his throat feels from shouting. In the distance, a train whistle blows in passing, the sound bleeding through forests and across harbors.

“Don’t you know that I’d be dead without you? If you…if anything ever happened to you, I’d-“

“Buck-“

“I mean it, Steve. I really mean it.” He wipes his cheeks again, and Steve’s stomach twists up in knots. “I sure am sorry for yellin’ at you like that, but I just get so-“

“I know, Buck,” Steve says. He would worry the same way, if it were Bucky in his situation. “I know.”

“I’m so sorry, honey. You need your inhaler anymore for now?”

Steve shakes his head, touches their noses together. “You smell like outside.”

“Do I?” Bucky smiles, kisses him again. “Here, let me see-“

He leans off the side of the bed and grabs Steve’s sketchbook from the floor, spreads out next to him on the bed and wraps his arms around his skinny chest, kisses behind his ear.

He holds the sketchbook in one hand over Steve’s sternum, and when he thumbs it open, a page falls loose from the middle. “Oh, no,” he says, “Is it okay?”

“Ah, it doesn’t matter.” Steve turns it over and gets ready to crumple it up. “It was supposed to be for you, but I could never get it right.”

“Whoa, wait!” Bucky pulls it out of his hand and takes a curious look at it. “Holy God,” he says. He traces his finger over their sketched hands where they join together, over Steve’s smile, over where his chin rests on the top of Steve’s head and Steve’s forehead presses against his chest. “Steve, this is…I mean, you have to know this is amazing, right?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not that great. The shading isn’t quite right.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know what picture you’re looking at, but the one I’m holding is a masterpiece.”

He blushes, snuggles in closer against Bucky’s warmth. “You always hug me like that. So. I wanted to draw it.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Damn. _Damn_. You always surprise me. I never think your art can get better, but this one…” He folds it up and tucks it into the pocket of his uniform shirt. “I’ll take it with me everywhere. Take it out at work whenever I get to thinkin’ about you and miss you.”

He tucks his face into the space between Steve’s neck and the pillow, kisses over his throat. “Hmm. No, that’s a lie,” he muses. “If I did that, nobody would ever get their car fixed. I would just be laying under the cars letting oil drip on me and starin’ at your picture.”

Steve snorts. “Bull- _shit_.”

“Serious. I swear to you, I can even hear your voice in my head while I’m working.”

“Yeah? Is it me telling you to hurry your lazy ass up and get the job done?”

Bucky leans up and kisses his cheek, presses his nose up against his temple. “No,” he smiles, mouth right up next to Steve’s ear. “It’s more like: _Bucky, oh, Bucky, please, right there, yes_ -“

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Steve says, twisting in Bucky’s hold and tackling him to the floor, knocking the breath out of him while he laughs and grabs Steve’s wrists defensively.

“Easy, baby, _easy_.” He lets Steve pin him against the hardwood even though he could easily flip both of them over, rubs at Steve’s chest with the back of his hand. “Give the old ticker a break, huh?”

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine,” Steve spits, sitting his ass right on Bucky’s stomach. “See if you hear those words outside of your head ever again, pal.”

“Honey, you wouldn’t.”

Steve smirks. “I _would_.”

Bucky reaches forward and knuckles the front of Steve’s boxers, right over where his dick is tenting wet and hard against the fabric, and Steve whimpers, caught off guard.

“Then what’s this, huh? You’re not backin’ up your threat too well.” He lifts Steve by his waist and sits him right on his dick, pushes his hips up so there’s no mistaking his intentions. “C’mon, it’s been a long day. Won’t you just sit on it? You don’t even have to do any work, just hold still and let me bounce you-“

“ _Christ_ , Buck.”

Bucky smirks. “Is that a yes?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s already grinding against Bucky’s lap and thumbing at his waistband. “God, you’re annoying. No idea why I stick around you all the time.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Beats me.”

***

“Stevie.”

Steve stirs and rubs his still-closed eyes with his fist, inhales big and stretches out on the mattress. “You’re up,” he yawns, turning over under Bucky’s arm to face him. “You okay?”

Bucky nods, skims his knuckles over Steve’s cheek. “I’m okay,” he confirms. “I don’t remember what I did, but I’m sorry for it.”

Steve scoots closer and kisses him firm on the mouth, slides his hand around the back of his neck to keep him there. The shades are open and moonlight is pooling over Bucky’s profile, casting him in a beautiful, pale-white glow.

Bucky kisses him slower, hotter, and Steve melts into him, letting Bucky push him onto his back and crowd him against the bed with his weight.

“Stop saying sorry,” he says. He supports the weight of Bucky’s left shoulder with his palm and skids his other hand down Bucky’s flat belly, feeling his muscles tense up before Bucky pushes past instinct and relaxes under Steve’s touch.

“You hungry?”

Bucky forces a smile and shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Steve kisses his nose. “Okay. Go back to sleep.”

Bucky nudges Steve’s hand lower on his belly. He leans down and kisses him, sweet and soft. “Mm, you sure?”

Steve laughs against his mouth. “Well, I guess you could stay up a little longer.”

Bucky sits up on his knees and tugs Steve’s pants down suddenly, briefs coming along with them.

“Christ,” Steve breathes, pawing at Bucky’s waistband. “Alright.”

Bucky leans back out of reach and shucks his own briefs down, grabbing his cock and sliding it right up against Steve’s, straddling his lap.

“Wish I had two hands,” he laments, letting go to reach down and kiss Steve full on the mouth, suck on his tongue.

Steve pulls back. “Here,” he says, and flips them over, tangles his fingers in Bucky’s hair against the pillow and kisses him again. He rolls his hips forward, half-hard dick sliding up against Bucky’s, and he licks his hand crudely, wraps it around both of them.

“s’good,” Bucky slurs, chest flushed, fingers playing with Steve’s nipple. Steve whimpers and bears down on himself, can’t help it, and Bucky smirks and gets the tips of his fingers wet, slides them over his nipple again. “Always were sensitive.”

“Shut up.” Steve lets go of himself and focuses just on Bucky, stroking him tighter, faster, until Bucky’s breath is shaking and he’s leaking wet and messy all over Steve’s fingers. He leans down and gets his mouth around him, fist still working him over, and Bucky shudders and comes, hips barely moving and his hand petting the back of Steve’s head.

“Damn,” he breathes, laughing a little, breathless, and he looks so goddamn beautiful with a smile on his face that Steve has to lean up to kiss him good and long, cupping his jaw so close in both hands that their noses are touching.

“You’re a doll,” Bucky says against his lips when he pulls back, smile still wide on his face, cheeks rouge and pinched together, eyes bright and wet and shining.

Reality always seeps into Steve’s vision like ice cream melting through cracks in the wood. Bucky stretches his arm above his head like a content cat, chin tipped back towards the ceiling so he can look up at Steve better. His foot rubs absentmindedly against Steve’s ankle, up and down, and Steve wonders how much time they have.

“I love you,” he says, suddenly desperate, pushing his face into Bucky’s neck, gripping his sturdy chest, “I love you so fucking much, Bucky, goddammit-“

“Hey,” Bucky soothes, “Stevie-“

“I can’t-“ Steve chokes, words caught in his throat, teeth grinding together. Bucky’s pulse is steady in his throat against Steve’s cheek. “I can’t do this. Bucky, I can’t, I -“

“Steve,” Bucky says, gentle, and his hand is warm and heavy on Steve’s back, rubbing in circles between his shoulder blades. Steve’s tears drip onto the bed and Bucky’s chin is tucked on top of his head and the window is open, which Steve doesn’t remember until the wind pushes the blinds off the wall and they clack against the sill. Steve can feel Bucky’s breath in his chest and in his exhale down the back of his neck.

“Look at me,” he says. He pushes two fingers under Steve’s chin, slick with tears. Steve looks up. Bucky is searching his face for answers, but not in the way that he does when his expression is blank and unknowing- in a different way.

“Why are you crying, baby? Hm?”

Steve leans into his touch. “Buck,” he says. He feels laid bare, like everything is on display. “Don’t leave me.”

Bucky shakes his head. He smiles a little, haphazard. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere-“

“You know what I mean.” Steve looks at him seriously.

Bucky’s face falls again, exhale coming long and slow through his nose. He nods. Steve prepares himself to hear something he wasn’t ready to hear. It’s like the iceberg on the horizon that they’re headed straight for without any plans to change course, and it’s going to be destructive and cold and bloody.

Bucky swallows. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Steve wipes under his eye with the back of his hand, just killing time. He doesn’t know what he wants Bucky to say. He doesn’t know what he wants to hear. He gets ready to hang his head against Bucky’s chest and drop it, just go back to sleep and wait for another cycle of this to hit them, but Bucky turns him over onto his side and mirrors his position, hand dipping down to tangle his fingers with Steve’s.

He’s quiet for a minute, too quiet, and Steve wonders if he’s losing him again and almost resigns himself to it until Bucky squeezes his hand.

“Steve,” he says, serious. “I need you to listen to me, and listen good.”

He pauses, so Steve nods. The blinds smack against the windowsill again, a lonely reverberation in the big, quiet room.

“I’ve never loved anything but you.”

Finally, Steve inhales.

“You’re my beginning, middle, and end. And I’m-“

He pauses. Considers his words. “I’m dying,” he says, finally, gentle just for Steve’s sake. Steve exhales.

“My brain is melting away inside my skull every day and there’s nothing anyone can do to fix it. But I got a hell of a lot more years than I was supposed to. And this last decade with you has felt like a million and one. Because every moment that I spent without you since way back when…I might as well have _been_ dead.”

Tears fall silently down Steve’s cheeks and Bucky lets go of his hand to thumb at them, brush them away.

“Steve Rogers, you’re my light,” he says. Steve bites at his lips because he knows what’s coming and Bucky leans closer and presses their foreheads together. “And you have to let me go soon. And-“ Bucky closes his eyes. “And it will hurt like hell. But you have to know that I’m never really going anywhere, baby, I’m not, because I’m gonna live forever in your heart. And I swear on everything holy that I will never leave you. Ever.”

Steve kisses him, then, hot and violent and all-consuming, puts his palm over his beating heart and holds him so closely and fervently that he’s not sure where each of them ends and begins. The hole in his chest closes all at once, and the concrete lifts from his shoulders, and Bucky is anything and everything around him and within him.

“Bucky,” he sobs, and swears he can feel their heartbeats sync up, and they’re sharing breaths. “ _Buck_.” And Steve lets go and just feels.

“I’m here.”

 

 

Bucky dies early in the morning. The hospital room is quiet and still and his absence is palpable. Steve holds his hand and can’t find it in himself to let it go.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Steve looks up from the bed and the nurse’s eyes widen comically. “Oh, uh, Captain, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay.” Steve gives her a weak smile. She does nothing but stand there and stare at him like a deer in headlights, so Steve nods towards the pile of clothes she’s holding in her hands. “Those are his?”

She shakes herself out of her trance. “Yes. Just his personal affects.” She places them on the bed carefully. “I just have some paperwork for you to sign, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, whatever you need,” he says. “Just…give me…”

“Please, take all the time that you need,” she blurts suddenly, backing out of the room. “I’ll tell everyone not to disturb you.” She shuts the door behind her.

Steve shakes his head and slides his thumb over Bucky’s wrist. “She’s flighty, huh.” Bucky’s hand is going cold and it’s making him feel sick so he lets go and puts his hands on the blankets instead.

“Kind of cute, though, I bet you’d like her.” He smiles despite himself.

Steve reaches across the bed and pulls Bucky’s clothes towards him, but fumbles the shirt and watches something fall out onto the bed. He frowns and picks it up, identifying it as an old, over-folded piece of notebook paper. There’s writing on the outside. Steve unfolds the corner so he can read it.

 

_Stevie,_

_I hope this gets to you. I sure hope you’re not too torn up because I don’t like to think about tears in those pretty blue eyes. I want you to know that I carried this with me all through the war and after. Even when I didn’t know anything at all, even when they took everything away from me, I somehow knew that this little piece of paper was important to me. I never lost it because I could never lose you. My angel, I love you, but you already know that. Carry this for me now._

_-JAMES_

 

Through his tears, Steve unfolds the rest of the creases, the worn paper in front of him unfurling to reveal a picture of two boys embracing, one’s chin tucked on top of the other’s head, hands joined at the hip.

The sun is starting to rise over the horizon, and it’s bleeding pink and orange and yellow across the sky, the light coming through the branches of the great pine tree outside the window. And Steve tucks the picture into his breast pocket, over his heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I worked on this for a while, and debated on posting it. I hope some of you can enjoy.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ fashioniconkimkibum


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